It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

I keep forgetting that I can’t save those who don’t want to be saved
The Alien Observer:
Traits that lead to great romance don’t always make right partners
I don’t like most people in TV ads, but I can’t tell if it’s them or me
What would I do with my time if the money made no difference?
The moon represents what I seek, but words are all I can offer now
Son’s prayer for dying mother awakened emotion for NYC doc
Sometimes we don’t really notice perfect match ’til it’s far too late
Each loss makes me feel grateful for the irreplaceable ones I love